


If I Was Captain

by TotalFanGirl221B



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5575636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalFanGirl221B/pseuds/TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:<br/>One day when Douglas is feeling very bitter he rages at Martin: “Don’t ask me what to do! You’re the Captain, you should know!”<br/>Martin gets into a situation shortly afterwards that there is no way he can handle on his own, feels he can’t even ask Douglas for advice anymore let alone help, and spirals into an anxiety attack trying to cope alone, making everything far worse that it ever should have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realise I have posted this before, but I didn't think I'd ever go anywhere with it and so I deleted it, but now I'm bringing it back! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Cabin Pressure or any of the characters

Martin was panicking. Of course Martin was panicking, that’s what Martin does. But now he cannot seem to stop. He sits in his room, not on the bed but beside it, huddled in the corner with his knees to his chest as he shakes. This was all his fault. He should not have depended on Douglas, he should not have expected his First Officer to have all of the answers.

_"Don't ask me what to do! You're the Captain, you should know!"_

Douglas’ words circled through his head nonstop. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move. He just sits there and hopes this will be over soon; he’ll breathe naturally again, will stop his shivering and his shaking, and he will get the appropriate amount of rest before the next day’s flight. _Oh God._ He couldn’t think about _that_ now. It just made him worse. How was he supposed to cope? If he couldn’t do it today, what made Carolyn think he could do it tomorrow? Douglas had been right, Martin was a sorry excuse for a Captain.

* * *

 

Douglas strolled into the portacabin, late as usual. Carolyn would have argued, but she was busy with paperwork this morning and she could not waste that time lecturing her First Officer who wasn’t going to take any real notice when it came to such tedious things like turning up to work on time.

                “Hey, Douglas! Want some coffee?” Arthur bounded in from behind whilst Douglas was settling himself by his desk. He scanned the room; no Martin. Now, that was odd. He quickly shook the thought from his head the moment Arthur jumped in front of him. “Douglas?” he asked again, finally getting the older man’s attention.

“Oh, yes. Coffee would be good, thank you.” He spoke quickly, barely paying the steward any real attention as he thought of the day before.

                Martin had been quite on edge that day, and rightfully so as the crew found themselves in such an awful predicament. Douglas, obviously, had been trying to think of a way out for them all, as per the usual, but nothing seemed to make it to his brain. Carolyn asked him, Arthur asked him, and then _Martin_ asked him. For some reason, by the time Martin asked Douglas was particularly angry. A phone call from Helena that morning had not put him in the best of moods, and then he found himself stuck yet again in some trouble with MJN that he was just _expected_ to fix.

                Though, that did not mean he had the right to lose it completely with Martin. Martin had every right to expect Douglas to come up with something, after all, that’s what Douglas _did._ He was the almighty Sky God, and his superpower was getting MJN unstuck from every problem and dilemma they seemed to be caught in. But Douglas had had _enough;_ enough of Carolyn asking him to solve things, then Arthur, and now Martin. Martin was the _Captain,_ he should know _something._ That’s when he finally burst.

_"Don't ask me what to do! You're the Captain, you should know!"_

                The words rung out in Douglas’ head as he sat behind his desk, pretending to sort out some paperwork of his own that would undoubtedly be done by Martin, if he ever arrived. The echo of his words slowly died down, but the guilt did not. Douglas was not a man to admit when he was wrong, but the panic set on Martin’s face as Douglas screamed at him, made him come to his senses.

* * *

 

Martin did eventually arrive, quite late, to Douglas’ surprise. If Douglas were honest, he would never have thought Martin would have the guts to turn up late, despite not being paid anything. However, here he was, almost an hour late. Douglas gave the man one look up and down and understood why; the Captain clearly had barely slept, his hair was untamed, and his uniform crinkled, his shirt hanging out.

                As soon as Martin entered he scanned the room, eyes falling gradually on his First Officer. Never had Douglas seen someone remove their gaze so quickly. Not quickly enough, as Douglas saw the widened eyes of a worried pilot.

                Carolyn _did_ give Martin a lecture on being late, which both Martin and Douglas thought was a tad unfair, it being the only time he had ever turned up late. Plus, it’s not as if they were flying yet anyway, as their passenger would not be here for some time. Martin had taken the lecture though, barely raising his voice higher than a whisper when apologising. He bowed his head, only lifting it an inch when she left in order to get to his own desk.

* * *

 

“Is Sir quite alright today?” Douglas finally spoke fifteen minutes into their almost silent flight, either pilot only having spoken if required. In those few minutes of quiet, Douglas had being eyeing his Captain up and down, watching him hunch due to tiredness.

“W-what?” Martin almost squealed, jumping when he heard the man next to him speak. Not really the reaction Douglas had been anticipating, but did not feel as though he didn’t deserve it.

“Is everything alright? You look a little peaky,” he asked, aiming for nonchalance, though he didn’t believe he managed to pull it off. Martin shrugged, though, and so if he hadn’t then it didn’t seem Martin was in a fit state to notice.

“I- I’m fine, fine. Really, fine.” The Captain offered quickly, blinking rapidly as he stared straight ahead, refusing to look the older man in the face.

“Alright, my mistake.” Douglas sighed, realising he obviously was not going to get anything out of his Captain if he didn’t apologise first. “Anyway, Martin,” he softened his tone, pausing for a moment to see if Martin would look up. He wouldn’t. “I wanted to say, yesterday-”

“I _don’t_ want- want to talk about it,” Martin commented immediately, hands gripping the controls as they turned pale.

“No, Martin, I just wanted to say-”

“ _Please_ , Douglas. Y-you made yourself perfectly clear. I- I shouldn’t _r-rely_ on you. I’m the Captain – _I should know.”_ He growled out those last words, trying to keep his voice from shaking too much. Douglas stopped, hearing his own words repeated to him out loud now, rather than just in his head. He didn’t like the sound of them, nor did he like the way _Martin_ said them. Had he really sounded so harsh? He hadn’t meant to.

“Let me finish, Martin,”

“N-no, please, Douglas. Forget about it, please. I understand, really. A-and I don’t, I don’t blame you. I need more c-control, I know. I’m sorry.”

                Well, this conversation _definitely_ was not how Douglas had been expecting it. _He_ was the one who should be apologising, _not Martin._ “You don’t need to be,” the older man sighed, watching as Martin calmed a little. He opened his mouth once again to try and explain that _he_ needed to apologise.

“Just… just drop it,” Martin exhaled, rubbing his nose in order to hide his face from Douglas’ view. Douglas closed his mouth slowly, allowing Martin to have his peace. This was all Douglas’ fault, yet Martin seemed to be taking the blame.

Douglas turned away. He had to fix this.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank God they weren’t sharing a room, Martin thought as he immediately entered his own hotel room and threw his bag beside the bed. He shut the door with a slam, trying to control his breathing. Everything had gone badly today, he was not his best. Carolyn and Arthur had not noticed anything, and even said that flight had gone rather smoothly if you ignored all the chaos the passengers had caused. However, Douglas had kept pushing and pushing Martin, and he had not liked it. And then when he wasn’t pushing Martin he was trying to play word games with him, and the Captain just couldn’t concentrate on anything at the moment except his slowly worsening life.

                He checked his phone as he slid down the door, having managed to relax just a little. Nothing. He scrolled through his messages of the night before, one from his landlord. “I’m coming over, I’ll be there at six.” Martin had known what he was coming about; he hadn’t paid his rent in so long, he could not keep taking advantage anymore. Mr Layton had been kind enough to ignore it in the past and wait, knowing Martin would usually give it to him eventually. However it had been too long to wait this time, and he had students willing to pay to stay in that attic. Martin really did not blame him, in fact he was surprised it took him so long to finally evict him. He had come, told Martin, said that he had a few days if he could not find somewhere instantly. Martin had first thought of asking his family, but then realised that would only make him feel worse about himself. Then there were his friends, of which he had few and none so close they would allow him to stay with them for as long as it took for him to get back on his feet. Then there had been one of the MJN crew; he could have asked Carolyn, who may have taken him in. Arthur perhaps would have tried to persuade her. Or he could ask Douglas, who he knew had a guest room which was never used. That was when his breath had caught, and his First Officer’s words ran through his head. What kind of a _Captain_ allowed this to happen to himself?

                He tried to shake those memories from his mind as he clutched at his chest, feeling his heart begin to race again. No, he couldn’t think about this now. At least for tonight he had a proper bed and room to sleep in, despite the draft blowing in and the dim light the room provided. It was better than nothing, which was really all Martin had at home.

                Martin tried to get himself comfortable, still sitting by the door. He knew any minute there would be a knock at his door, and it would be either Arthur or Douglas telling him they were going to go down for dinner. All he wanted to do was get into bed and _sleep,_ because being around Douglas made him more panicky than it should. He knew Douglas now expected him to be a proper Captain, not the poor desperate wannabe he really was. He just could not do it, no matter how hard he tried; nobody took him seriously, and now he was starting to see why. Who was he kidding, really?

                Right on que, the door knocked. Martin sighed, trying to mentally prepare himself for it. He gave one last wistful look to the bed before standing up and smoothing his uniform. He felt a little silly then for having not bothered to get changed in the time he had, but he opened the door quickly trying to stop himself from thinking.

                “D-Douglas,” he tried to put on a smile, but he knew it wasn’t real and he could see Douglas was not buying it either.

“Martin,” Douglas simply replied, eyeing the Captain up and down, noticing he had not bothered to change. A look of confusion spread over his face, but he did not say anything when he saw the pleading expression on the other man’s face. “I thought I’d let you know that Carolyn has buggered off.” At this Martin frowned; had he missed dinner? Had they just gone without him? “She wanted to visit some shop or something or other,” the older man continued. “Anyway, she won’t be joining us all for dinner unfortunately, but Arthur and I are going down now.”

“Oh OK, I- I’ll come down now.” Martin mumbled, Douglas not ignoring his clear agitation. He was obviously still bothered by the other day, having barely even contributed to their word game or been so bothered when he lost it. Still, he did not comment on it yet; he knew it would be best to do so when Martin had eaten and would then be more relaxed, perhaps.

* * *

 

Thankfully Martin would not be paying for his meal, if he was then he would hardly be eating that night. He could not get much on the company card, but it was still something at least. When he got home – well, to his van – he would be having bread for as long as it lasted him, and then whatever he could managed to afford. Douglas complained when he saw what little selection he could have, asking Arthur why his mother could not spare just a little more. Arthur had not seemed so bothered, but nothing really bothered Arthur. Martin simply ignored him, thinking of this as a treat rather than a bad thing.

                Douglas watched as Martin ate at the slowest pace humanly possible, savouring every single bite of what he had ordered. He took it as a bad sign; he already knew things with the van had not been so good as of late, but Martin had not told him _how_ bad. He had been on the verge of telling him the other day, right before disaster struck and everybody had been distracted. Douglas had not really been paying much attention anyway, being in a foul mood already that day and having his own problems to deal with. The last thing he had said to Martin on the matter of his van was that he should just be patient. Thinking about it now, it seemed like a very stupid thing to say, considering it was the only source of Martin’s income, and without it, even if only for a couple of days, was not something he could do.

                Arthur was leaning back in his chair smiling, full up as he had scoffed all of his food down quickly. Douglas had finished as well, leaving only a little bit. He wanted to offer some to Martin; he wasn’t going to eat it, and the boy clearly needed to eat some more.

“How about dessert?” Douglas asked the two, opting instead of apologising just yet to perhaps treat Martin with some sort of gift. Arthur instantly looked up cheerfully to Douglas, not needing to say yes but nodded his head anyway. Martin was less impressed by the idea, looking up hesitantly, as if he was not sure if it was a good idea or not. “My treat,” Douglas added, making sure Martin did not worry unnecessarily about the price of something. The younger man now seemed conflicted, Douglas could see his mind working. The older man had not offered it out of pity, which would make Martin more likely to accept the offer, which he normally did. In fact, Martin would usually have accepted by now, obviously asking whether Douglas was sure about it, or trying to get out of it but eventually deciding that it _would_ be nice to treat himself for once. Then he would always choose the cheapest thing on the menu, which made Douglas feel a little more sympathetic for him, but he would not bring him up on it.

                This time, Martin refused, to Douglas’ surprise. “N-no, thank you. I’m going to go back up; we have to fly tomorrow and I- I’m exhausted.” He mumbled, standing up from his chair rather clumsily. Douglas studied him for a moment; he knew Martin wanted dessert, he was _starving._ And surely he would have seen the meaning behind it, the apology of sorts. Of course Douglas would apologise properly afterwards, but this was sort of just to get him on side first.

“Oh Skip, it’s only dessert! We’re flying late morning as well,” Arthur pouted a little, looking up at his Skip in despair when he was turning to leave.

“I’m not really in the m-mood for it anyway, I’m f-full up to be honest.” He lied, actually hearing his stomach growl at him as if to argue with him. Still, he couldn’t accept dessert from Douglas; the First Officer _always_ paid for their desserts, and he should not have to. Martin was the Captain, and maybe he did not earn his wage as a pilot, but he should at least _once_ buy everyone food. They were always buying it for _him._ Douglas had only told him what they were probably all thinking: he should know what to do, _he’s_ the _Captain. He_ should be able to support _himself. He_ should _not_ be starving and sleeping in a van. No, Douglas was obviously sick and tired of providing him with, not only answers and solutions, but food as well. Douglas was not his friend, he reminded himself. Douglas was his _colleague._ His _First Officer._

“Martin stay, it’s only dessert like Arthur says.” Douglas now added his voice to Arthur’s please. Martin turned to the older man frowning, his heart was racing as he could not get out of there fast enough. All he wanted to do was leave and nobody would just _let him._

“I really need to go to sleep, sorry.” He spoke quickly, rushing off to the lifts and pushing the button as quickly and as frequently as possible before the lift finally arrived. He was grateful neither Douglas nor Arthur had attempted to follow him to persuade him to go back. Because he should _not_ depend on his colleagues for food. He should provide for himself. _You’re the Captain._ Douglas’ words snapped at him as he entered the lift, burying his head into his shaking hands immediately, thankfully nobody else was in there to see him almost breakdown into yet another panic attack. He had not had so many since he was a child, having managed to control them. It had just been _that_ day, everything had just gone _wrong_ and he realised now he had now control over anything.

* * *

 

As soon as he entered his room he locked the door, trying to do it quickly but failing a couple of times as his hands shook ferociously. Tears were already pouring from his eyes, he failed to hold them in as he rushed from the lift. His breath was coming in sharply, and he had no control over anything anymore, not even his own _body._ It was going into complete panic.

                He sat himself again by the door, despite it being locked he still felt he had to sit there to prevent anybody intruding on another of his moments of utter weakness. He sat shivering and struggling to breathe, annoyed at himself that he had allowed this to happen over such a small thing: dessert. But it was not just _dessert,_ was it? Dessert had just been a reminder to Martin that he was a terrible pilot, that he was a terrible person and that he was completely _useless._ His First Officer had to _buy him food._ He was obviously sick of doing so, despite the offer, which he was only doing because he felt sorry for him. Sorry for silly little Martin – silly little _Captain_ Martin who could not even control an imaginary airline or air _dot,_ let alone a _real one._ Douglas was already getting sick of his incompetence. His landlord then had had enough, kicking him out of his home. He was a _Captain_ and he was living in a _van –_ a van which was barely working but was his source of income.

_You’re the Captain, you should know!_

The words taunted him and he sat there unable to catch his breath as he sobbed hysterically.

* * *

 

Once he had calmed – he used the term very loosely – down partly he moved away from the door, simply because it was not the most comfortable position to be in, and right now all he wanted to do was lie down. He was utterly exhausted.

                After a moment of simply staring at the bed, he stepped in slowly, carefully wrapping the blankets around him as snug as he could get, away from the whole world. He realised there was little point in getting so comfortable as if he was going to get a good night’s sleep; another perk which came along with his constant anxiousness and panic was nightmares, which was definitely _just_ what he needed. All he wanted to do was talk to somebody about it all; despite it only having been two days, his world had already come crashing down on him. The one person though who he wanted to speak to was the one person who had the least respect for him, the one person who had reminded him of what a failure he was, the one person who he thought he could rely on because they were friends. Who was he kidding; he couldn’t be friends with Douglas Richardson, the man who was clever and who was the _real_ Captain.


	3. Chapter 3

Martin had been late again, Carolyn had been angry. She stood, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for her pilot to arrive from the hotel and get them and their passengers out of this place. Arthur was attempting to appease the passengers, who were getting rowdier than they had the day before when arriving. They were all growing increasingly impatient, Douglas even getting a tad concerned; he saw Martin was clearly in a state the day before, whether he would admit it or not. Douglas, however, could not for the life of him figure out a way to fix it. Normally all the answers would come to him instantly, but not this time. Because he had already attempted to apologise, and he thought that would be it done with; Martin would say he was still hurt by it, but Douglas would win him over eventually and soon enough they would be playing another one of their word games which Martin still lost! Not this time, though. This situation needed something different. He could not apologise yet, he knew, because he knew it was not just about that now. It had manifested into something more, perhaps.

                Martin stood in front of the mirror, staring into those sad eyes. Those _pathetic_ eyes. He had woken up from a nightmare at two, then failed to get any proper sleep after that, just naps. As he straightened his tie he did not feel right; not as he had every other time he put it on. Because then he could _pretend._ Before he could tell himself he _was_ the Captain, he _was_ in charge, and Douglas had to respect him and listen to him. After such events he could no longer feed himself those lies without feeling unworthy and pitiful; he was no _Captain,_ no matter how hard he tried to kid himself. He stared at his hat, the object he desperately clung on to in so many situations, now seeming like a something foreign. This did not belong to him, it belonged to Douglas, who, despite being an annoying human being, _was_ a Captain. Unlike Martin, who could do nothing. Who couldn’t even provide himself with food and shelter.

                Finally the Captain arrived, looking even more dishevelled than he had the day before, which had seemed to Douglas impossible. His hair was a mess, but luckily he managed to hide most of it underneath his hat; his uniform was completely scruffy; his eyes were red, bags underneath, clearly not slept well if at all. It was not just the First Officer who noticed it this time, but Carolyn as well; her expression softened slightly – only _slightly_ – when she took in the sight of him. “Martin, what happened to you?” she questioned, her voice, although a little comforting, still sounding very angry and demanding.

“I’m s-sorry I’m late C- Carolyn, I didn’t mean to d-delay everyone, I just, just,” he struggled to think of an excuse; he could not tell her the real reason for his delay, that he was going through some calming techniques that he did not actually ever get the hang of but he needed to try _something_ if he was going to be trapped with Douglas for hours yet again.

“Oh never mind, just go fly the plane! Lord knows how long it will take you to finish that sentence, and we have until dusk to leave.” Carolyn uttered back, not giving Martin a chance to reply indignantly as she walked hurriedly away to sort everything out. Martin simply shook his head in defeat sighing, he was no Captain.

                Douglas watched the younger man sit down beside him dejectedly, hardly making a sound unless absolutely necessary. All he wanted was to say something to him that would perhaps make him smile. That constant anxious frown which now sat on Martin’s face did not make him very cheerful, and he did not even know how Martin was coping with it and whatever problems he had. It was probably the van, Douglas thought. It could not just be what he said, of course it couldn’t. Well, he could hope. That sounded a little harsh, he admitted, but still. It was better than believing _he,_ and he alone, had made Martin this miserable.

                The flight was awkward and silent, Martin being fidgety and nervous, clearly wanting out. Douglas could hardly bear it, feeling the tenseness radiate from the other man as if he was going to jump from the plane at any moment with a parachute just to escape. He had to say something, just to break the ice. Just to reassure Martin he still wanted to be friends with him, and he wanted to make up for what he had said.

“So Captain,” he blinked when he saw Martin flinch. Flinching at the sound of his First Officer’s voice. Whether it was because nobody had spoken in so long or because he thought Douglas was just going to verbally abuse him, it disturbed Douglas terribly. Douglas had done some bad things, but he had never caused anybody to _flinch_ away from him. “How’s the van going?” he managed to continue after a slight pause without seeming to phased by it.

“What? What do you mean?” Martin asked defensively, turning to face his First Officer with wide eyes. Perhaps he _knew._ Perhaps Douglas had figured everything out; somehow he had discovered that Martin had been evicted and was living in his van with nowhere else to go, and was now, for some awful reason, taunting him with that fact simply to remind him that he was no Captain, and that Douglas was the more worthy of the two. He would be right, of course, but right now Martin could not think of that, not while flying the plane.

“The business, _Icarus Removals._ Everything good? Many jobs lined up for our week off?” Martin relaxed a little, thankful he was not going to be taunted about his bad life choices, but then realised he had to respond to _this_ question. What was he to say? Obviously he would have to lie, because he had to show Douglas he was at least _trying_ to be a better Captain. That he may not be one, but he wants to be able to do _something_ a Captain could do.

“Er, er, it’s going, going great. Good, actually, yes, hm.” He stuttered, aiming for nonchalance and confidence though failing miserably in all aspects. Douglas was watching him, studying him. “I have j-jobs lined up, quite a _few_ really, it’ll be, be good. Good, yes.” He finished, ending slightly better than he had started but still not convincing enough.

“Well then, that is _good,_ I suppose.” Douglas, after a pause of consideration, spoke. As much as he wanted to tell Martin to cut the act and that he knew he was completely lying, he could not bring himself to do so. Martin was a proud man, and Douglas had done enough already to put Martin down. If Martin wanted help, he would ask for it, Douglas could not force it upon him. Anyway, everything Martin had just said, despite being completely untrue and sentences which were very poorly formed, was the most Douglas had really heard from Martin since their flight out just yesterday, and he did not want to prevent him from ever talking to him again.

* * *

 

Martin went off to the portacabin in a hurry, barely looking back at either the First Officer or the steward who seemed to watch him go with concerned expressions. “What’s the matter with Skip, Douglas?” Arthur asked him what had been on his mind since after dinner yesterday evening. He had noticed the tense atmosphere in the flight deck on both flights out and back, wanting to ask but noticing the look Douglas gave him meaning he should not. He had attempted though to lift the Captain’s spirits in many ways, bringing him extra coffee, telling him jokes, he even told him who he thought would definitely win passenger derby! And he had been right! Skip had not picked them though, instead saying he didn’t want to play right now.

“I don’t have a clue, Arthur.” Douglas admitted, knowing if Carolyn had asked him he would have told her something different, not wanting to diminish his all-knowing demeanour. “But I’m going to find out and I _will_ fix it,” he reassured the steward, also trying to drill it into his own head as well. Despite what anyone would say about Douglas, he _did_ feel guilt, and he knew when he should. This was definitely the time to feel guilty.

                 Martin stayed in the portacabin as long as he possibly could, delaying himself from going “home”. As he did some paperwork which did not actually have to be completed just yet, he wondered where he would park his home tonight. It was going to be freezing in there, he knew, and uncomfortable. After having only slept in it for one night he still had back pain. Even the horrific thing they tried to pass off as a bed in that hotel had been better than the back of his van, and he would actually miss that bed tonight. He grimaced at the thought of it all, but tried to put it at the back of his mind as not to panic himself in front of everybody, well everybody being Douglas and Arthur who were chatting about nothing at his side. Carolyn was in her own office, though there was no doubt she would be told if Martin was having panic attacks. He would be out of a job, wouldn’t he? Who would want a Captain who has panic attacks because he is no good at his job? Because he has only just admitted it to himself? Nobody, not even someone who gets him for free.

* * *

 

He strolled over to his van in the dark, wishing he could have had more paperwork. Sure, he was hardly paying it any real attention, just enough so it did not come back to him along with a rant from Carolyn about efficiency (because that’s _all_ he bloody needed right now), but it kept him from the reality that was his life.

                He sighed as he got in, just staying stationary for the time being. He did not want to stay in his van tonight; he wanted to be in a warm home, he wanted to have warm food, he wanted to be a _good Captain who actually got paid._ Fat chance of that happening any time soon, he knew. His heart was beginning to race again, _why_ did he keep thinking about _everything?_ He groaned audibly, wanting to scream out of irritation and just pure hopelessness. As he watched everyone’s cars leave the carpark he rolled his head and sighed, feeling so alone. He smashed his hands on the steering wheel as the tears poured out. Douglas’ words of truth this time were accompanied by Carolyn’s from earlier that day about his complete incompetence as a pilot and a human being. He really did not have a reasonable excuse for being late, did he? He was just useless, and they were finally starting to tell him. No point in hiding it anymore. The world hated Martin Crieff, and all Martin could do is cry and have these anxiety attacks.

                After fifteen minutes of choking and clutching his chest, he set off on the road. He may as well at least try and find a nice spot for the night, as nice as the streets were going to get. Once he had found somewhere suitable, he pulled in carefully, wincing at the sound of his van’s engine. He knew he would not be allowed to keep his van here for more than a single night, and so if the van broke down he would be in a lot more trouble than he already was.

                Stepping into the back he wanted to drop to the floor, utterly exhausted and also devastated by the sight of what his van had become. The front was not so bad; he had put his food there, some drinks, and then just his manuals and aeroplane models. The back was disgusting; just a sleeping bag with a worn out pillow by the top. His alarm clock by the side, and his book from his flight bag was to go next to it. He pushed himself into the sleeping bag violently, completely fed up with everything. He wondered what Douglas was doing that night. He stared at the First Officer’s number in his phone. He could not call him. Except that was all he wanted to do, which seemed ridiculous considering it was Douglas who had pointed out to him that he was no good. He needed help though, and Douglas was the most helpful person he knew. His finger hovered over the name as he internally debated it, inevitably deciding it was not the best thing to do. After all, Douglas had made it clear he no longer wanted to help Martin, the Captain should _know what to do._

* * *

 

Douglas found himself thinking about Martin as he went to bed that night, wondering whether he should perhaps call him and tell him he knows Martin was lying about _Icarus,_ or maybe he should go over the next morning to perhaps ask since it would be better face to face. He sighed, knowing he would not; Martin did not want his help, he wanted independence. If something was so terribly wrong, he would tell Douglas. He would ask for his help… Wouldn’t he? The older man sighed, but eventually tried to sleep, telling himself that Martin was probably fine and he was worrying too much about it all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! Happy New Year, hope you all have a brilliant 2016 (and I also hope you enjoyed the new Sherlock special! I definitely did!) :)  
> Thank you to everyone who has commented/left kudos, I really appreciate it as it makes me feel like my fics are worth my time and it also makes me happy because who doesn't like to be flattered? Thanks again!


	4. Chapter 4

It was around half nine Martin’s phone rang for the first time in five days. He wondered who would be calling him; nobody wanted to hire his services, not that he could supply them at the moment anyway, and his family had not spoken to him in a long time. That left MJN, who he actually had not thought about until picking up the phone and seeing Carolyn’s name flash on the screen. Well, he _had_ thought about them. Until he had decided perhaps it would be best _not_ to, because all he was doing was working himself up, and all he had been doing recently was just that. He stared at the name, considering whether it would be worse to ignore her calls or accept them. It was not as though she would be able to find him, now that he had managed to move his van to yet another secluded area. Actually, if anybody could, _Carolyn_ could.

                “Martin, what took you so long?” he flinched at the sound of her sharp tone, wishing he had chosen the former option and just tried to get some more sleep, what good that would have done him he had no idea, but he could at least try. “Actually I don’t care, just listen carefully. Mr Alyakhin needs us to fly today, so Douglas is on his way to pick you up now.” That made Martin feel nauseous. He did not want to fly today, and he definitely did not want to get a lift with Douglas, who would take one look at him and simply pity him and it would only make Martin see even more that he was not cut out to be a Captain.

“W-what?” another realisation hit the Captain, and he instantly wished this day would end already. “He, he’s coming to my house? The _flat?”_

“Yes, of course. To where else would he be able to pick up Martin Crieff, Captain of MJN Air?” Martin knew how ridiculous he must have sounded and instantly wished he had not said anything, or even picked up the phone.

“R-right, sorry. Sorry.” He shook his head, then hurriedly explained he would be as quick as he could. He hung up as soon as he could, rushing then to get into his uniform, or _costume,_ as he now thought of it, and made his way back to the student house, having to walk rather than take the van as he could not leave it around the area now.

                Thankfully, Martin could depend on his First Officer’s inefficiency, allowing him time to get to the flat before the older man. He looked to his watch, not really knowing why when Carolyn had not actually given him a time to be at the airfield. She must have given it to Douglas. Of course she had given it to Douglas; he may be late on most occasions, but he was still a more competent pilot than the Captain himself, and however late he was it still gave everyone enough time to do the things they needed to do. Martin clutched at his chest, wishing the pain that had begun to rise once more away. He had been doing all right recently, not having to see the crew of MJN in his time off. However, that did not mean his situation had become so much better, and so he still had many anxiety attacks. And today had already started off as a bad day, Martin having only _barely_ the right amount of sleep for a flight.

_Stop. Stop. Stop. You can’t do this._

The mantra rushed round his head as he tightened his eyes shut. If he brought all of these thoughts to the surface now, he would definitely not be in a fit state to fly. He would probably have to refuse the lift from Douglas, simply denying to let him see him in such a way, because then Douglas would form an even _worse_ opinion of the already terrible pilot. It would not _stop,_ however, the stupid little thoughts going on in his head, hushing his pleas and refusing to give him mercy as tears burned behind his eyes. No, he could not cry now. He could control it, he _had to_ control it.

                He heard the car pulling up on the side, opening his eyes quickly before Douglas noticed anything was wrong. Of course he would notice anyway, just looking at the state of the poor pilot, but there was no need to make it even worse. The horn beeped, despite the fact that Martin had seen the car and was moving towards it already. “You can sit in the front,” Douglas commented, noticing Martin getting ready to open the back door. Martin internally cursed Douglas for noticing, not wanting to sit in such close proximity to his First Officer since he would be doing so in a short amount of time; the less time he had to do it, the better.

                The drive was awkward. Douglas was discretely trying to glance at Martin, though not discretely enough. Martin was trying to just stare out of the window in an attempt to seem oblivious to his First Officer’s stares, though what was going on inside was chaos and he needed some fresh air. If he were to ask Douglas though, there would be questioning and remarks and the constant reminder to Martin that he was no good, and so he tried to will the feeling away. It did not work, but at least he did not cry. His breath had become quite hard to catch however, and Douglas had not failed to notice it. Still, he did not say anything just yet. The younger man was clearly on edge, probably because his van business was unlikely to be doing well despite what Martin had told him on their last flight, and he would not talk about it. If Martin wanted to, he would bring it up, or maybe even just look at Douglas.

* * *

 

Carolyn had noticed the state of their Captain too, but it was too late to say anything about it or to even ask if he was all right. They had to file a flight plan and get on the plane as soon as possible as the passengers had been waiting impatiently now. She and Douglas watched Martin hurry about with it, not failing to miss the slight shakiness of his hands or his apparent jumpiness. Arthur did not miss anything either, having hoped Martin would be happier after their time off, instantly asking “are you all right, Skip. It’s just, you look a bit… sick, sort of.” He had spoken in the nicest possible way, not spotting the look of anguish on his Captain’s face when he heard the name Skip. Martin did not understand why it hurt him so much, perhaps it was due to the fact he felt guilty for lying to Arthur; he was no Captain, and Arthur then had no right to bestow such a name to him, a nickname which he had come to love and cherish, simply because of what it stood for and how it reminded him of how far he had managed to come. Now all it did was sting, and he could barely look at Arthur whilst he answered that he was “a bit tired”, immediately after excusing himself to do the walk ‘round.

                Arthur shot a worried glance to Douglas, who could say nothing, not having a clue what was wrong with their pilot either. Carolyn had even asked if Douglas knew anything; if he had spoken to his Captain in their time off, if anything had happened, perhaps. She had only noticed something was wrong when leaving on the trip before this. Assuming it may be due to an argument he and Douglas had, as it usually was, she let it slide and put it down to an off day for him. Seeing him now though made her think twice about it, he looked tired and grey, his jaw jumped every time somebody asked him if he was all right or whether he needed any assistance with anything, he was skinny as well – too skinny, and he may have managed to hide his tears from Arthur when he had excused himself from their little conversation, but Carolyn had picked up on them.

                “You’re sure he didn’t tell you anything before your time off?” she asked Douglas privately in their office, still whispering despite Martin having gone off to supposedly check on the plane.

“No,” Douglas shook his head, noting the motherly concern seeping into his CEO’s tone, but not mentioning it as he would even admit now he was slightly worried. Martin had had his fair share of money problems and the like, though never so bad that he would act like this. Then there was the anxiousness and the flinching and this new behaviour he had suddenly become accustom to. He barely spoke, barely listened, and he just got on with things. Or at least, he tried to get on with things. Douglas was not blind, he could see when Martin was struggling. He thought though, after so long working at MJN, his Captain may have a little faith in Douglas to trust him, despite what he had said so long ago now. Surely Martin was not still so upset about that, was he? It was a thought that had occurred and continued to do so in the First Officer’s mind, though he shut it away, blaming the van business.

                “I did ask him, plenty of times.” He responded after a moment, watching Carolyn trying to suss it all out, he doing the same thing, yet neither getting anywhere.

“Well, just keep an eye on him.” She spoke, trying not to sound so concerned but hardly managing. Douglas would usually make a quip, and it was on the tip of his tongue, but he heard Arthur suddenly offer Martin a coffee and instantly shut up. He knew when enough was enough, and so nodded to Carolyn before leaving, not saying a word to either Arthur or Martin, though sparing the latter a glance. Martin noticed, instantly averting his gaze from the older man so he would not see everything he was trying to hide, though plenty of it was plain to see; his failures, his complete and utter disastrous life, his panic. All he wanted to do was breathe normally and go to bed, as if this had all just been one awful dream and he could come back to work and trust Douglas again and ask him for help and just _speak_ to him normally about _everything._ But he couldn’t, could he? Douglas did not respect him, and Martin doubted if he still did he would do so after confessing his panic attacks, his nervousness, his failure to make it as a Captain. If anything Douglas would surely just agree that Martin had made a failure of it, a big one, and that _he_ should have been the Captain. So Martin kept quiet, tried to hush his breathing as he placed one arm close to his chest, turning away from everybody before they all had to be stuck in an even smaller place together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your comments/kudos! Love them all, thanks so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

It was hard to work when feeling so tired, tense and anxious, Martin realised halfway through their flight. What was making it even more difficult were the _delightful_ passengers who seemed not to be made happy by anything really, and his First Officer did not seem to care. No, he seemed more interested in his Captain at the moment; of course, Martin could not miss the same glances Douglas had been throwing his way since that morning. Clearly thinking he was not looking good, that he should not be at work, especially not as the Captain. Martin remembered the look the older man had given him when leaving Carolyn’s office, not giving him any hope whatsoever that things could perhaps get better. He had wondered what they had been discussing, but instantly realised what it had to be. They needed to get rid of him, didn’t they? Nobody needed a Captain who could barely do anything on a _good_ day, and he knew he had not had one of them in a while. It obviously was no longer worth getting him for free when he was so ridiculously useless, that they probably knew Martin needed to be disposed of immediately, once he had definitely warn out all of his abilities, which would likely be right after this flight. He grimaced at the thought, hearing his heart beating from his chest and shooting a worried glance to his First Officer as though he would be able to hear it too. Even if he was not able to, he would probably recognise the state Martin was in as soon as he turned around and explain to him now – why save it until later – that he was no longer needed.

                The younger man attempted to wipe his brow discretely in an attempt to get rid of the increasing moisture on his forehead, though not managing to do so. Douglas turned and opened his mouth as if to say something, a quizzical expression all over his face. Fortunately, Carolyn came in just at the right moment. Well, that was if she had not come to join in with Douglas to taunt Martin, to let him know he was no longer right for the job. Pilot’s needed to be calm, relaxed and authoritative. Once upon a time Martin was able to pretend he _was_ all three. Now though it just seemed sad to even think about such a pathetic lie.

                Turning to face Carolyn, he tried to replace his uneasy expression with a smile. Not a brilliant one perhaps, though she apparently did not seem to notice, aiming her speech at Douglas rather than himself. Obviously, Martin sighed. Why would she tell him something that needed the Captain’s involvement? This is what had always happened, and now Martin was no longer surprised by it, having accepted the fact that he just was not _Douglas._ He was not a Captain, nor would he ever be.

                “Right, I am absolutely sick of this.” Carolyn began frustrated, folding her arms. “Why do certain passengers think the ‘no smoking’ sign does not apply to them?”

“I don’t know, why _do_ certain passengers think it does not apply to them?” Douglas replied jokingly, Martin glancing warily out of the window as Douglas only angered their CEO more.

“Douglas,” Carolyn pinched the bridge of her nose, hardly in the mood to argue with her First Officer at this moment in time. “Now is not the time for your silly little jokes. Now put Martin’s hat on and go and talk to the smoker!” she ordered, Martin looking up slightly. As Carolyn spoke he heard Douglas’ words from that awful day run through his head. _He_ was the Captain. _He_ should know what to do and _he_ should do it. Not Douglas. He could not rely on Douglas, could he? Surely he could manage this simple task. He sighed, remembering the last time he had attempted to demand a passenger to stop their smoking habits.

“N-no, Carolyn,” he spoke up quietly, already moving up from his chair. Both Douglas and Carolyn glanced to him with shocked expressions on their faces, as if they had forgotten he was ever there. Did it matter? Surely it would just be better for everybody if he was not working for MJN. If Douglas was the Captain and he had just allowed his van job to take over. That would probably have been for the best. “I’ll deal with it,” he muttered, feeling himself shiver at the thought of what he had to do. He was not authoritative, and he was no Captain. How on earth was this going to work out for him? He grimaced, though he knew it was what he had to do.

“Martin, now is not the time to prove you are any better than Douglas, we have been through this.” Carolyn shook her head, halting the Captain before the door. Martin felt even more nauseous now, now they had finally said something about it all. His heart beat only went faster and faster, his breath becoming increasingly harder to catch. Attempting not to let it show, he shook his head.

“I’m the Captain, I should know what to do.” He repeated Douglas’ words solemnly, more to himself again than to Carolyn. It stung to hear himself voice them, the truth of it all hurting so much more than he thought it could after his acceptance. The panic in his system was only growing, but he knew he had to do this; it was not Douglas’ job and Douglas was sick of doing things for him. Carolyn, thankfully, moved from his way a little confused by his sadness and uneasiness. Douglas however watched him go, realising what Martin had said. It was _his_ fault, and likely his alone. Martin had trusted him and he had thrown it back into the younger man’s face with such anger. Still, he let Martin go to do his job, knowing if he said anything or interrupted in anyway it would only dig in at the man’s pride even more so.

* * *

 

“Douglas! Douglas, something’s wrong with Skip! _Douglas!”_ Arthur shouted, rushing into the flight deck with some unfamiliar expression. _Fear._ Douglas had never seen such a look on Arthur’s face since he met with Gordon, and he had hoped never to have to see it again. Yet, here they were.

“What? Arthur, calm down!” he demanded, watching Arthur nervously fidget and jump as if he would explode if he kept the information in any longer. “Now, what has happened to Martin?” he asked calmly, though he had to admit he was quite reluctant to hear the answer. His Captain had gone to speak to that annoying passenger only ten minutes ago, and that was as much as Douglas knew.

“He’s in the toilets, he’s locked himself in,” Arthur spoke quickly, panicking quite a bit. “He was talking to the passenger – the smoking one mum was getting angry with – and he kept going really, _really_ red and sweaty and, and the man kept saying, shouting, horrible things at him.” He continued, Douglas trying to sift the useful information from everything Arthur was blabbering about. “Then Skip started pulling at his collar, saying he couldn’t do it and that he couldn’t breathe and he was getting upset and I think he was crying, now he’s in the toilets! He couldn’t breathe, Douglas.” The First Officer’s eyes widened, realising what was happening. He thought for a moment, trying to figure out the best plan of action. It was not as though he could leave the flight deck to go and calm Martin down himself, though he could hardly leave him alone at such a time. He noticed Arthur waiting for an answer, again becoming quite fidgety as he stood impatiently.

“Right Arthur, here’s what I need you to do.” He began, making sure to tell Arthur in enough detail what his job was. “You need to just keep him calm, keep him reassured. Can you do that?”

“I think so, Douglas!” Arthur nodded fervently, heading out from the flight deck straight to the toilet where Martin seemed to currently be choking. The steward listened to the coughing and the gasping, worrying that he could even hear it from outside of the toilets.

                “Douglas? What is going on, where’s Martin? And why is Arthur talking to the toilets?” she seemed confused and now even more exasperated than she had previously. If the smoker had not been enough to drive her insane, the complete incompetence of her pilots and steward were.

“I’m diverting, Carolyn.” Douglas spoke seriously, turning to face the CEO before he radioed ATC. Carolyn scoffed, appalled by the fact that her First Officer thought he was able to divert with no good reason. However, the look on his face told her clearly this _was_ serious enough. “Your son is not talking to the toilets. He is in fact attempting to calm our Captain down. Our Captain who has just been verbally abused and is now suffering a severe anxiety attack.” He answered her unspoken question, and she immediately changed her tune. Her motherly nature kicked in, she knew Martin was in a bad way. She had seen this morning, in fact she had seen mornings before.

“Do what you must,” she spoke calmly, leaving Douglas to do as he needed.

* * *

 

Martin sat crying and clutching to his chest, leaning against the tiny toilet as he gasped for air. Why was it such a struggle? He panicked still, despite the fact that he knew the more he did so the worse things were going to be. He coughed and choked and sobbed as he sat alone, realising what a disastrous mess he had made of everything. Now he had nobody to bail him out of such a mess, and he was alone.

                He struggled to hear Arthur’s comments through the door, but when he did it only made him cry even more. Arthur had so much faith in him, in his Skip. _How?_ Martin struggled to understand. Every word Arthur said made him just feel even more guilt, made him feel like a terrible human being who had betrayed such a kind man, amongst other people. “Skip, it’ll be OK.” Arthur would say such things, he did not understand. It _couldn’t_ be OK. Ever. He was useless and rubbish and incompetent. He had given himself away for free so he could be a Captain, or at least have the title of one. Everything their passenger had exclaimed was spot on, the whole truth; Martin was _no_ Captain, thus he had no real right to order him around. That was if he could anyway, which he definitely could not. He had been put in his place, and the world suddenly became even more real. Martin wanted to get off the plane. He wanted to get some air. He wanted to breathe again normally and not panic about such things. He wanted to stop _pretending_ and just go and leave everybody he was bothering behind. He wanted… What he really, _really_ wanted was to be able to tell Douglas, to explain he _knew_ now, he _understood._ They could never be friends, just as Martin could never be a Captain. But it _hurt,_ it hurt _so much._ His chest, his head, his whole being was in such agony, shivering and his eyes burning as even more tears filled them. He clutched the wall with his other hand, wishing all of the pain away.

* * *

 

They had landed, and so Douglas announced it to their passengers, not caring for their grumbling and their moaning that they had not landed in their intended destination. Then, almost instantly, he rushed to the toilets where Arthur had gone back to in order to reassure Martin. Arthur seemed sad, terribly so. Clearly all of his efforts had been in vain.

                The steward looked up when Douglas came over, the frown seeming odd on his face. “He’s still upset. Listen,” Douglas did, moving closer to the door. He could hear the struggling, the panting, the crying.

“Don’t worry Arthur,” he placed a smile on his own face, though it felt wrong to do so. “I’ll deal with this now,” he nodded, allowing Arthur to move from the clearly uncomfortable position he had put himself in so he could replace him. He had to calm Martin down, get him out from his secluded spot, and just _ask him how he is._ How he _really_ is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's nearly over! Thank you so much for your kind comments and for leaving kudos! :)


	6. Chapter 6

“Martin?” Douglas spoke softly through the door, only loud enough for Martin to hear him. Unfortunately the Captain did not respond, panicking though in response at the thought now of his First Officer having replaced Arthur. This was incredibly unprofessional, he knew, and now he had dragged Douglas into his mistakes yet again. “Could you open the door?” he asked kindly, waiting patiently for either an answer or to hear the sound of the lock. However, he soon realised he was not going to hear any, which was not unexpected, and so he sat himself down carefully outside of the door, grumbling at the uncomfortable position. “That’s all right.” He commented, knowing Martin probably was not really listening to him or perhaps did not care what he had to say, after all, it was his fault. “Martin, I need you to calm down. Can you do that?” Martin shivered and only struggled more, but that did not stop the older man continuing. “Just do as I do; breathe in on three, then out on three, OK?” he paused, not really knowing why because he knew the other man was not going to reply. “In; one, two, three.” He carried on slowly, listening carefully through the door. “Out; one, two, three. You can do it, Martin. Just breathe.” He continued to instruct the younger man, doing so as soothingly as possible.

                Luckily Martin eventually managed to follow Douglas’ technique, first of all failing but soon getting the hang of it, drawing out shuddering breaths towards the end. He sighed, placing his head in his hands as he realised the complete seriousness of the situation. These attacks had never been at work before, but now they had interrupted him _mid-air._ They had been forced to divert simply because Martin was panicky about doing his job; God knows what Carolyn was going to say. “Now, are you going to come out?” the familiar tone ran through the door once more and the Captain rolled his eyes, remembering who was sat out there. He had been so focused on calming himself down that he had forgotten _who_ exactly it was helping him. No doubt Douglas would have to remind him of the fact that he was a _Captain,_ he should not have panic attacks and should definitely not rely on _him_ to get him out of them. “Is it really so comfortable in there?” he spoke again when he heard nothing from Martin who was weighing up his options. He _could_ go out there and face Douglas, allow himself to be reprimanded and then probably sacked by Carolyn, or he could just stay in the toilet for a little longer, surely. “Because it isn’t so out here, and if we _are_ going to talk to each other I would definitely prefer it if we were sat on chairs.” No, apparently he could not stay in there; Douglas was obviously not going to leave him alone now, especially after he had been so unprofessional. He sighed. He may as well get it all over with now, face the music.

                Douglas smiled when he heard the lock and he stood up immediately, wincing at the crack in his knees as he did so, though more focused on the now opening door behind him. Emerging from it was one Martin Crieff, bright red in the face as tear streaks all the way down. His eyes looked absolutely exhausted, puffy and painful which was not helped by the lack of sleep. He came out shaking, refusing yet to look up at Douglas, though the First Officer understood why and so did not say anything. “Are you all right?” he knew it was a stupid question, but he felt before anything else it should be asked.

“F-fine… fine.” The Captain lied terribly, running his finger under his nose as he sniffled. He was so ashamed and worried, he wanted to crawl into a ball and never face the world again.

“Follow me,” Douglas instructed calmly, assuming Martin would do exactly as told. He took him into the cabin, showing him to a seat and then sitting himself opposite.

                “Chairs, much more comfortable.” Douglas commented light heartedly, trying to bring a smile to the other man’s face. It did not work, unfortunately. He sighed, realising he should probably just get straight to the point, as he should have done many days ago. “What’s going on, Martin?” he finally asked after a long silence, Martin fidgeting with his fingers, not really knowing where to look but knowing it definitely should not be in the First Officer’s direction. “And I mean _really._ What has happened?”

“I, I just panicked. It’s fine, I, I’ll be fine. It was stupid o-of me, won’t happen again.” He muttered, wishing he could just leave and go back to his van and forget this day ever happened.

“No, it isn’t stupid. You suffered a severe anxiety attack.” Martin blushed as Douglas spoke, reminding himself of the utter failure he was. “I just want to know what caused it.” Martin looked up confused; he had been waiting for Douglas to shout at him, to tell him he was being ridiculous and overdramatic, to explain to him that he is no Captain and he probably should not be allowed near planes again. “I know today it was caused by that passenger, but that has happened a few times and you’ve never reacted in such a way.” He reasoned, Martin listening carefully. “I need to know, was it me?”

“What?”

“I heard what you said before, to Carolyn. That you should know what to do because you are the Captain. Is this all because of what I said last week?” Martin stared at him, debating what to say. He could tell Douglas the truth; Douglas would probably tell him he should get over it as it happened so long ago and this was just proving his point that he was a rubbish Captain. Or, he could lie, go on living in panic until eventually he could no longer work for MJN or do anything, really.

                His silence seemed to answer for him in the end, Douglas’ eyes widening just a fraction at the realisation that it really _was_ what he had told Martin. He stopped, examined Martin as he tried to figure out what his next move was to be. “I was going to apologise,” he began, explaining it all to his Captain now. “The day after, but you didn’t give me a chance.” Martin thought back, recalling Douglas trying to speak to him on the next flight but shutting him down before he had the chance to say anything more hurtful. “I didn’t mean what I said, it just came out. I was in a terrible mood that day, Helena had phoned me that morning concerning our divorce. I never meant to lash out at you, it just so happened that I did, and I do apologise for that.” Martin was silent for a very, very long time, processing this new information. He knew it should make him happier to know that Douglas had only become angry with him because of reasons out of his control, but it didn’t. Still, he depended on Douglas. What was said was the truth; he _should_ know what to do as a Captain, and yet he did not. Just because Douglas had not meant to say it, it did not mean nothing he said was not the truth. “Am I forgiven?” Douglas spoke up, not liking the silence surrounding them.

“I, I suppose.” Martin nodded. None of this was Douglas’ fault really, he could not blame him for anything. All of the fault lay with him, and his inefficiency and his failure at everything.

“What is it?” Douglas asked, noting how Martin’s breaths became a little shallower.

“N-nothing, s’fine.” He mumbled, though Douglas clearly was not buying it. “I, I’m still a terrible Captain. I depend on, on _you._ I can’t do anything, can I?”

“Martin, listen to me. And listen carefully, because it is incredibly unlikely I will ever say this to you again.” The younger man lifted his head slightly, though did not have much faith in what was about to be said. “You are still young, you have plenty of time to become a perfect Captain.” Douglas reasoned. “If you’d have had this conversation with me when you first started, I would have agreed with you. But,” he quickly spoke, noticing the younger man begin to lower his head. “You’ve worked here now and had experience, and you’re becoming better and better. Nobody becomes a good Captain instantly; it takes work, experience, and you have to give it _everything._ Which you do.” Martin still didn’t seem so convinced, though he did perhaps seem a little brighter than before. “Take St Petersburg,” Douglas smiled as he noticed something twinkle in the younger man’s eye, as if this were a very happy memory for him despite the fact that they nearly crashed the plane. “You landed GERTI on _one engine,_ you took control and you landed the plane. If I thought you were a terrible Captain, would I have allowed you control in such an instance?”

“No…?”

“No.” Douglas smiled reassuringly. Martin pondered on the thought for a moment, taking in everything Douglas had told him. His whole perception on things did not change immediately, as he still believed himself to be quite poor as a Captain. However, hearing Douglas say those things, knowing he would not say them if he did not mean them, gave him a lot of comfort. So much so that he did begin to think that perhaps he was right, perhaps Martin was just in need of more experience. He just needed more time, that was all. He smiled a little, his first genuine smile in such a long time. Douglas noticed it and nodded to him, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. “And the First Officer is _there_ to help, do you understand? If you need anything, Martin, anything at all. I am here, not just as your colleague though, but as your friend, understood?” Douglas stared at him sincerely, and Martin nodded. “Good.”

* * *

 

Eventually they both left the plane, having spoken for a while after, about nothing in particular. It just felt nice for Martin to speak to Douglas in such a friendly way again, and that was what they were, _friends._ Martin beamed slightly thinking about it, realising he was not as alone as he imagined himself to be.

                Arthur jumped on Martin, pulling him into a huge bear hug once he entered the portacabin. Martin was startled at first, though soon fell into the hug and wrapped his own arms around the other man’s smiling at the comfort and the warmth. Arthur was asking him questions, lots of them, but Martin did not care so much. He felt OK, and that was better than he had been for so long now.

                Douglas explained what had occurred to Carolyn, only giving her the details she needed to know and then leaving, offering Martin his lift home. They wandered over to the car, Douglas still giving Martin ‘secret’ glances, though Martin did not seem to mind so much now. Though, when they got to Douglas’ Lexus, Martin realised that there was a certain problem. Douglas was taking him home, but he needed to get to his van. “What’s the matter?” Douglas asked, instantly recognising the look of concern on the younger man’s face. Martin grimaced. “Anything, Martin.” He reminded him, and the other man shrugged.

* * *

 

Douglas had shown him to the guestroom with strict instructions to get plenty of rest whilst he went to collect Martin’s van, which fortunately had not been parked so far from his home. Martin lay in the bed, worrying a little that he was intruding, but reminding himself that Douglas would take no other answer other than “yes, I will stay at your home until I get back on my feet”. Once they had arrived Douglas had ordered Martin into the room, obviously noticing how the man swayed on his feet due to sheer exhaustion. He had told him where everything was if he were to wake before Douglas returned, though Martin was reasonably familiar with the layout of the house having been a few times only for small amounts of time.

                When Douglas arrived home he noticed the house was still as silent as he had left it. So, he wondered over to the guestroom having placed Martin’s van in the drive, leaving what was left of Martin’s possessions in there for the time being. Poking his head through he was glad to find that the young man had not ignored him, but had in fact gone to sleep. Probably getting his first goodnight’s rest in days. Douglas shut the door quietly, careful not to wake the other man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading/commenting/leaving kudos! :)


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